I have many irrational fears. I suppose you could just say, “I’m irrational,” but since this is my website, I’m going to tag on the part about fears and pretend that lalalalalaa I’m totally, completely, entirely, 110% sane.
I’m deathly afraid of earwigs. My earwig phobia can handily be traced back to the time when, many years back, when Young Aunt Becky actually drank a live earwig that had been evilly lurking inside a Diet Coke can. That’s the stuff nightmares are made of.
I’m also afraid of fish, the color orange and anything sung by Rush.
But the one that is most impactful is my fear of Garage Sales.
I like a good bargain like I like Orange-flavored Hostess Cupcakes (read: love) and I love weird, eclectic things and Garage Sales are notorious havens of such finds. Why once, I got a Plexiglas Goat’s Head for a penny! If that’s not a win, I don’t know what is.
I also love to purge my house of excess crap. I don’t like…well, I don’t like stuff. With five people under one roof, you can imagine how quickly stuff accumulates. I’m not a hoarder and having a bunch of stuff around makes me anxious(er) and twitchy(er) so every couple of months, I go through the house and remove everything we don’t need. When I’m done, I feel like I’m on top of the world. I’m all Leonardo DiCaprio King of the World, Bitches! I’m high on freaking LIFE. Stuff, BE GONE!
So the stuff is out of our closets and moved to a second location: my garage. That’s all well and good until I realize (as I have today) that I must now move it somewhere…else.
The obvious solution (and what I normally do) would be to donate it to the Salvation Army. There’s a drop-site within a mile from my house and I can load up a couple of bags and easily drop them off.
But there’s always that niggling voice in the back of my head that suggests that maybe, just maybe, I could have a Garage Sale! Maybe someone would actually WANT some of my stuff! Like all of my old Williams-Sonoma Cookbooks that I never used because, let’s face it, BUYING cookbooks doesn’t mean you suddenly BECOME a cook!
Maybe someone would give me a dollar for one of those cookbooks! Or what about all of my hardly-worn Calvin Klein pants that I outgrew? (ungrew? I don’t know. I lost weight and now they don’t fit) Or those toys the kids never played with? SOMEONE MIGHT WANT AN AWESOME TOY FOR THEIR KIDS.
This is what the voice in my head says. For a brief moment in time, I listen. My eyes glaze over, and I think that it might be nice to make a couple of bucks. Hey, I could buy my laptop and start planning my Epic Road Trip to visit the Pranksters! The wheels in my head begin to turn. Slowly. Creakily.
Then, Cold Hard Reality bitch-slaps me across the face.
I think of the people who will haggle with me over a coffee cup I’ve reasonably priced at a whopping ten cents. I hate to haggle more than I hate anything. In fact, I’d rather give it away than have to haggle with Garage Sale People.
So I’m left back at Square One. A Garage full of Sale-able stuff that I guess I’ll just donate to charity. Unless you Pranksters have a better idea.
I hope that whomever ends up with that Williams-Sonoma Cookbook set knows what the hell “creme fraiche” is. Because I sure as hell don’t.
Do you have any better ideas, Pranksters?